


Bringing Her Back

by eclipsedheart



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Existential Crisis, F/M, Guilt, Immortality, Love, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipsedheart/pseuds/eclipsedheart
Summary: Part out of guilt and part out of love, Bernard has worked on recreating Theresa.





	Bringing Her Back

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers s. 1 and 2. 
> 
> I'm not happy when TV shows kills off one half of my OTP and I'm supposed to just live with that. >< So I fixed it, thanks to tools that the show itself handed over. This might be a oneshot and it might be the beginning of something longer. It all depends on what things decide to go wrong next in my life and how much they impact the muse..! :)

* * *

Bernard sighed and took her hand in his, gently stroking it with his thumb. It wasn’t until now that he really noticed how small she was; back then, she had seemed imposing, intimidating. Sure, he had seen her in more relaxed settings, even vulnerable, but she had still seemed, well…

“Like a Valkyrie,” he mumbled, earning no response. Yes, she had seemed fierce, fearless, impressive – but now, stripped of her personality and reduced to a shell, she was nearly petite.

“I think it’s time we begin. I can’t put this off much longer.”

He let go, and her hand fell back onto her lap, limp – but not lifeless. He had replicated the golden ring she had worn back then, and it reflected the copper rays of the dying sun. She stared straight ahead; her blue eyes glassy as if she was lost in a particularly intense daydream.

Bernard stood up and walked around her, leaning in and running his fingertips across the lines between her eyebrows, his touch light as a feather. He thought he had managed to replicate her looks perfectly; but was the code right? Was the code _her_? Had he poured the essence of her into this immortal body, or had he created something else? He was almost afraid to continue, afraid of failing. And at the same time, he was also afraid of succeeding. What right did he have to bring her back? And still, it was the least he could do. He had after all been the one to take her life, even if he had done so while under Ford’s control. He had a lot to atone for.

But was this the right way to start?

Pushing the thoughts aside for a moment, he sat down on the chair in front of her.

“Do you know where you are?”

She blinked and looked around, as if she was roused from that daydream that had drawn her in. He waited with bated breath.

“In the fucking park,” she replied, sounding annoyed but slightly confused, almost scared. He could hardly blame her.

“Yes, Theresa. We’re back in Westworld.”

“What do you mean, ‘back’? We never…”

Realisation slowly dawned on her features, he could see it sharpen the look in her eyes and making her clench her jaws.

“This is not my body, is it?”

“Well, can you tell the difference?”

She raised her hands and studied them closely, ran her fingers across her face, down her neck, down her torso. It was almost erotic to watch, and Bernard turned his eyes away for a moment, suddenly feeling as if he was prying.

“No,” Theresa eventually said.

“Then does it matter?”

She didn’t answer.

“How many times?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Theresa.”

“How many fucking times have you brought me back? I thought it couldn’t be done. Despite all their attempts they never managed to bring Delos back, he always destabilised.”

“Corporate doesn’t know how to do it. I do. Because Ford had already done it, years ago. The trick was to let a host do the fidelity test. A host who had spent lots of time with the person. But we still need to move slow, so not to overwhelm you.”

“You’re assuming I’d rather live like a host than not being alive at all.”

“Yes.” He looked her in the eye. “That’s an assumption I made. Am I mistaken?”

“No.” She touched her face again. “It is fucking weird though.”

“Weird how?”

“I mean, I suppose I’m dead, otherwise I wouldn’t be a host. And I’m not actually me anymore. I’m just a collection of memories.”

“That is what consciousness is though, isn’t it?”

“If we’re gonna have an existential discussion now, I need a drink.”

Bernard smiled.

“I think that’s a bad idea at the moment.”

Theresa nodded slightly. She supposed she could see the point in staying sober while processing this. But she needed some comfort.

She began to stand up, Bernard looking closely to see if he could notice any flaws in her movements, but he saw none. Theresa reached for the metallic cigarette case and took out a cigarette, her hands shaking a little, but not enough to concern him. Of course she would be somewhat unsettled. It was a completely human... or, a completely _natural_, response. 

Theresa lit a cigarette, meeting his gaze through the veil of smoke. 

"You didn't tell me how." 

"What do you mean?"

"How I died."

He sighed deeply. 

"I think it's best we talk about that a bit later." 

"It was that bad, huh?" 

He couldn't look at her when he replied: 

"Worse."


End file.
